


Honeypot

by pillowy



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Eventual Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Hacker!Eggsy, Honeypot, M/M, Original Character(s), but in the other sense of the word, everything is possible because computers, made-up computer stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-05-26 15:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15003923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pillowy/pseuds/pillowy
Summary: In computer terminology, a honeypot is a computer security mechanism set to detect, deflect, or, in some manner, counteract attempts at unauthorized use of information systems. This is similar to police sting operations, colloquially known as "baiting," a suspect. (Wikipedia)AU where Eggsy dropped out of the Marines with a new skill: hacking. He is recruited into Kingsman by Merlin instead of Harry.





	1. Merlin

“Well fuck.”

Eggsy sits back, spine cracking. He’s been hunched over his computer for four and a half hours, his throat is dry, he needs to piss, but he only notices all that because his laptop decided to fucking shut down for no fucking reason.

Fuck.

He shakes himself. Looks at his phone, sees the time without really comprehending it. Mark had warned him about this: about getting sucked into something too good, too tempting. (“If it feels like you’ve just discovered Lothlorien, or, I don’t know, the Enterprise, get out.” “The wot?” A sad shake of the head.)

It’s four in the morning and Eggsy’s just been suckered.

The thing is (he can acknowledge when he’s in the bathroom, flushing the toilet and not bothering to pretend to wash his hands), he’d gotten complacent. He was so careful, so _fucking_ careful, developing his online personas, dabbling in online gambling and crypto and fucking day trading, taking just a little here and there, so his accounts could pass as the honest (okay, sort of honest) earnings of the average pathetic man-boy nerd living in his mum’s basement who makes everyone feel better about themselves because at least they’re not _him._

They actually wouldn’t be that wrong. Except it’s not a basement, and his mum ain’t paying.

By the time his mum had called him in training, sobbing that she’d pissed on a stick and she couldn’t do it alone and _Dean,_ Eggsy had learned all he’d needed from the Marines. Or, more accurately, from his bunkmate, because Mark was as fucking brilliant at computers as he was terrible at people. Mark had taught him “just enough to be dangerous,” and in return, Eggsy’d taught him “just enough to seem human.”

It’d been a good friendship.

So now he and Daisy and mum live in a tiny vertical house in the suburbs, one room stacked on top of another like the house is trying to apologize for taking up any land at all. And mum can stay at home with Daisy or take her to play with the neighbourhood kids, and Dean’s on the other side of London, and Eggsy spends most of his days inside either with his family or at his computer except for the hour a day he spends working out because he refuses to let all the Marines training go to waste.

He spends twenty minutes tossing in bed before giving up, getting up, and going outside. He starts his routine, stumbling at first with fatigue until habit takes over. The weird thing is, he wasn’t even doing anything illegal. He was just...following a trail. There was a little too much money moving around, and the paths seemed a little too complicated, and all of a sudden he found himself face to face with two fucking zero days before his computer conked out and he’d thought MI6 at first, except it’d all started on a sleazy gambling site and what would MI6 be doing on a fucking gambling site?

Maybe they were doing a sting. Had Eggsy been compromised? He’d have to avoid that account in the future, fuck, there was almost 200 quid in there and now he’d have to drop it and close the associated bank account and the email and the burner phone. Fuck.

He interrupts his workout (good for thinking, those) and creeps quietly back into his room. He pulls the hard drive from his laptop, swaps in a new one, boots it up. Covers the old one with tape so he won’t forget. He’ll take a hammer to it later, when mum and Daisy are out. He digs the burner phone out of the pile, plugs it in, and turns it on. _3 new txt msgs._ When he opens them, he freezes.

1/3  
_Received 04:03_  
Hello mugg291

2/3  
_Received 04:03_  
You’re quite clever, aren’t you?

3/3  
_Received 04:03_  
Check your bank balance.

Heart beating wildly, Eggsy calls the bank from the burner phone. The phone’s been compromised already, anyway. He croaks his way through the voice menu options. How had they gotten from his gambling account to his bank account to his fucking phone in less than a minute? Did they hack HSBC? _Were_ they HSBC?

His current balance is ten thousand, one hundred eighty-six, the automated voice informs him politely.

He hangs up. _Ten thousand._ The one hundred eighty-six is his, but _ten thousand. What is going on?_

When his phone beeps again, he nearly has a heart attack.

1/1  
_Received 04:58_  
That’s a fraction of what we’ll pay. Meet me at the Wolseley at 0700.

In person? No fucking way, mate. He isn’t crazy.

1/1  
_Received 04:58_  
Looking forward, Mr. Unwin.

 

***

 

A shower, two almost-breakdowns, and three changes of clothing later, Eggsy is on the bus (the fucking bus, Christ) to London. He’s gonna stick out like a sore thumb at the Wolseley, and hopes that his training gear will make him look like a rich toff who dropped by after a workout or something, an illusion that will last until he opens his mouth. Or until he gets arrested. Or kidnapped. Fuck. His leg’s twitching something fierce, and the bus driver is giving him a weird fucking look, and Eggsy don’t blame him ‘cause the other two people on the bus are very obviously going to work and Eggsy is very obviously not.

He’s across the street from the Wolseley by 0633 and debating whether or not to just stand in front of it, because fuck it, they know his name, and he’ll go quietly and do everything they say just to keep from drawing attention to mum and Daisy. _Mum and Daisy. Mum and Daisy._ He can’t let himself think about them, because then he’ll panic. _Mum and Daisy._ Just think about...jesus fuck, fuck, fuck –

“You’re early.”

Eggsy blinks. The man in front of him looks...like a fucking mobster, honestly, shaved head, sharp features, clearly jacked as fuck. But he’s wearing a jumper. And glasses.

Eggsy suppresses an urge to snap to attention. There’s something inherently _military_ about this man, except –

“Well, lad, the Wolseley won’t open for another twenty-five minutes. How do you feel about Pret?”

They end up sitting in Green Park with coffee and breakfast sandwiches. Merlin seems as relaxed as someone like him can be, which is not at fucking all, spine ramrod straight and gaze unsettling.

“Oh for Chrissakes, eat yer fuckin’ sandwich,” Merlin snaps, “I’m not here to fuckin’ murder you.”

Eggsy looks down. His sandwich sits in his lap, perfectly wrapped, perfectly innocuous. His hands are still shaking.

“Fuck,” Merlin mutters, “This is...I’m shite at this. Look, lad,” he says, and Eggsy looks back up. “I’m not the mob, I’m not the police. I work in technology. I recruit the best. You triggered a honeypot.”

“Yeah, feel right stupid,” Eggsy mumbles. It’s the first thing he’s said to the man, which seems about right.

“No, you got as deep as you could get. Ye did well, Eggsy, that’s why I’m here.”

Eggsy blinks at him. Mechanically, he begins to unwrap his sandwich, and Merlin releases him from his gaze.

“How did you know my name?”

“What, Unwin?”

“No. Eggsy.”

“Oh,” Merlin looks out at the park. A few joggers are out, a few dogs being walked. “I...well, our company, they can access…”

Eggsy studies the man. He seems the sort to rarely be lost for words.

“Eggsy. You triggered our systems because you found us, which is good. But I’m here – me, as opposed to someone else – I’m here because your father saved my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this, like, dumb? It's almost a fanfic of esama's Care and Custody, except without the cooking. And probably nowhere near as good.


	2. Kingsman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR THE COMMENTS AND SUBS AND KUDOS <3  
> You keep me going when I think I’m writing for no reason  
> 

Eggsy doesn’t know what he’s expecting – the back of a police van, maybe, or a military black site because Merlin is fucking terrifying – but a posh tailor’s ain’t it.

“Wot, you got a dress code or summat?” he asks as Merlin unlocks the door.

Merlin’s mouth twitches as he walks directly to a dressing room, looking at Eggsy expectantly. Eggsy steps in.

Merlin closes the door, then turns, regarding Eggsy in the mirror. “What I’m about to show you is in the strictest confidence.”

Eggsy nods, eyeing the (is that _velvet?_ ) green walls.

“Although,” Merlin muses, stepping around Eggsy to press his hand to the mirror, “If this doesn’t work out, I can always wipe it from your memory.”

Eggsy’s about to protest – _the fuck, wipe it from my memory_ – but then the floor starts fucking _moving._

Merlin looks ahead, unconcerned. “What do you know about your father’s career?”

Eggsy shrugs, pretending not to care about the _secret elevator jesus christ._ “We thought he was Marines, but mum found out he wasn’t ‘cause they wasn’t sending any pension. They said he’d dropped out. Figured he got into some bad shit.”

Merlin sighs. “Your father was in trials to be a Kingsman operative. It’s an agency that operates – I’m supposed to say ‘at the highest levels of discretion’ but as soon as you see one of ours in the field, you’ll see that’s a load of shite.”

“An agency?”

“Spies, investigators. Assassins, sometimes. We don’t work for any government. What I’d give to see MI6 try to keep our trigger-happy boys in line.”

Eggsy is at a loss for words.

“Not,” Merlin hastens to add, catching his eye, “That they’re all reckless idiots with big guns. Kingsman does great things. Saves lives. Your father would have made a damn good agent. He saved three lives the day he died.”

The platform stops at a gleaming train. Eggsy follows Merlin into the train silently.

Spies. It sounds ridiculous except for the private fucking underground he’s in. Merlin taps at a clipboard that is clearly _not_ a clipboard, and Eggsy stares out the window for a moment before closing his eyes. The train is moving a little too fast, and he never did eat that sandwich.

He reaches for the chain around his neck out of habit. _Kingsman._ It fits.

As the train slows, he realizes Merlin’s stopped typing. He opens his eyes. Merlin is gazing at the medal. “Lee was a good man, and Kingsman didn’t do right by him. Or his family.”

“We do alright,” Eggsy hunches a bit defensively.

Merlin offers a soft smile. Well, soft-ish. That face don’t lend itself to soft. “I don’t mean it as an insult. Except to us, as an organization. You should know that he was trying for a different position than the one I’m offering you.”

“Still don’t know what you’re offering, mate.”

“Yes,” Merlin sighs as the door of the train hisses open, “I’m shite at this. Harry might do better. He gave you that medal. Tuck it in your shirt for now, don’t need people asking around.”

Eggsy does so as he steps out into an enormous aircraft hangar.

“Fuck me,” Eggsy breathes, “This is some serious James Bond shit, bruv.”

Merlin snorts. “You have no idea.”

 

They go to the cafeteria first, which is aces because Eggsy is starving now that he’s no longer shitting his pants with fear of being kidnapped or assassinated or worse. He piles his tray high, only slightly embarrassed at Merlin’s amused glance. Fuckin’ tosser got to enjoy _his_ fuckin’ breakfast sandwich, didn’t he?

The caf is quiet, and they take a table that looks out at the lawn. Eggsy’s just tucked in when his phone rings – the real one, not the burner.

“Hi mum,” he mumbles around his food, turning towards the window so Merlin doesn’t have to look at a mouthful of half-chewed potatoes.

“Eggsy? Where are you?”

He swallows quickly. “A mate’s in town, from training. Sorry mum, I left a note, didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Oh! I didn’t see the note, luv. Let me know when you’re coming home, I’m making pasta tonight.”

“‘Kay, thanks. You and Daisy doin’ alright?”

“Goin’ to the pool today!” Mum’s voice hits the happy high note that means she’s talking to Daisy. “Yes we are! Yes we are.” Daisy gurgles in the background, and mum’s voice returns to normal. “Go have fun with your friend, Eggs. We’ll see you tonight. Love you.”

He returns the sentiment and hangs up. “Sorry, Merlin,” he begins, turning back to the man, and stops. Chatting with Merlin, bent over the clipboard-not-clipboard, is the most gorgeous bloke he’s ever fucking seen.

The man looks up.

Eggsy feels a flush crawl up his neck.

“Apologies,” Gorgeous Bloke says, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I’ll have this sent to you,” Merlin replies amiably.

Eggsy has a moment of terror/joy that Merlin’s going to introduce them, but Merlin’s already turned back to his clipboard. Gorgeous Bloke smiles at Eggsy and walks away. He is very tall, and fit, with endless legs and a suit that fits him to a fuckin’ T –

“Eggsy.”

Eggsy snaps his eyes back to Merlin’s, which look, he realizes (his stomach dropping), pretty fuckin’ amused. He immediately shoves some eggs in his mouth to stop himself saying anything stupid.

Merlin does not needle him about Gorgeous Bloke, and instead begins to explain what Kingsman Tech does. Which is, it seems, everything.

 

Racks of servers hum behind glass walls (“The air conditioning bill gives finance migraines,” Merlin grins), and while most of the offices are closed, the ones Eggsy can see are a computer nerd’s wet dream. Multiple large monitors, speakers, adjustable standing/sitting desks, and one even has a fucking treadmill and exercise ball instead of a chair.

“All the handlers’ offices are soundproofed,” Merlin explains as they move through the hall. “A practical consideration, since they’d kill each other otherwise, and also to preserve secrecy. If an agent is on a mission, only he and his handler know the details. And me, of course,” he adds smugly.

“So you’re, like, the head of this."

“In name,” Merlin scowls, “Though usually I feel like a bloody mother hen.”

They enter a small viewing room that looks out onto a manufacturing floor, robots and conveyor belts and all. “Fuckin’ hell,” Eggsy whispers.

“We manufacture our own devices,” Merlin explains, “The room is sealed, of course, to prevent dust and contaminants. Right now you can see they’re making our most common items: custom bullets, darts, grenades, bugs. We use normal bullets as well, but some of our equipment is...unique.”

Eggsy does see. Row after row of differently-shaped bullets, tiny darts, and...

“Lighters?”

“Most of our tech,” Merlin nods, leading him out another door, “is disguised in the form of a gentleman’s effects. A lighter is a grenade. Shoes contain poisoned blades. The Kingsman fabrics – the ones we use for our agents, of course – are woven with kevlar to repel bullets.”

“Wot, seriously?”

Merlin smiles. “The classic English gentleman,” he says, a little ironically, “Respects tradition. It’s good for R&D, since the styles don’t change over time. If we had to blend in with every fad, we’d never be able to outfit our agents appropriately.”

“Oh,” Eggsy nods, “Yeah, I see how it would be good to for you lot to be stuffed-up-like, for that.”

Merlin quirks a smile at him as they go up a set of stairs.

“What about the birds?”

Merlin pauses on the steps. “What do you mean?”

“Well, like,” Eggsy stutters for a moment, “Do the, uh, female agents just wear suits too? Like Margaret Thatcher or some shit?”

Merlin frowns, and Eggsy wonders if he’s said something wrong.

“The agents,” Merlin begins hesitantly, then pauses. “The more scientific departments,” he starts, more confidently, “The handlers, R&D, medical – are a more diverse group than our operatives. We’ve never,” he darts a glance to Eggsy, “Kingsman has never had a female agent. Or an agent of colour, if you were going to ask.”

“Oh,” Eggsy chews on that for a bit.

“All the operatives have come from families of...good standing. It’s one of the reasons Kingsman did such a shite job of dealing with Lee’s family after his death,” he adds quietly. “We’d never had a proposal who didn’t come from money, so we’d never had to think about pensions or the like. Usually the problem is that they have too much money, or are too well known.”

Eggsy feels his ears getting hot. He’s proud of his family, of himself and his mum making it out of the estates, but sometimes – sometimes, in a place like this, where there’s free food and private trains and gorgeous blokes in gorgeous suits walking around –

“Eggsy, lad,” Merlin says gently, and he looks up. “Your father was a good man. He would have been a great Kingsman, and you’ve got the makings of one too. There are some dinosaurs around here,” and Eggsy can’t help snort a laugh, “But they’re dying out. That’s why we have to stick around.”

Eggsy nods. “Yeah.”

Merlin peers at him for a moment longer, looks up and down the stairs, and taps at his clipboard. “I’ve just activated a scrambler,” he says, “So any transmitters nearby won’t work. Now’s the time to tell you: the boss here, Arthur, is a dinosaur. Hopefully you won’t have to meet him. But if ye do, remember that there’s folks like me and Harry. We’re here for you, alright?”

Eggsy doesn’t know when he progressed from a mere job candidate to someone Merlin is there for, but he won’t complain. Merlin’s the kinda bloke Eggsy’d rather have on his side. ‘Sides, now that he’s seen Kingsman, he’ll only leave if they drag him out.

He’s stuck on one name, though: Harry. Harry, who gave him his medal. Harry, who Merlin says is there for him. Harry, a blur in a childhood memory, gentle and warm and _oxfords, not brogues._

 

***

 

Eggsy is given a week to consider signing up for Kingsman training. He takes less than a day.

He goes home, has dinner with mum and Daiz, tells them about the new job offer (well, the unclassified bits), sleeps fourteen hours, then heads out with two final kisses on the cheek. Mum and Daisy are good on their own – they have friends in the neighborhood, money ain’t a worry, and mum’s been on his case about getting out of the house anyway. Everything’s going great until he walks into the Kingsman dressing room and realizes his handprint isn’t keyed for the mirror.

He stares at it, feeling like an idiot. He’s reaching into his pocket to call Merlin when the floor starts moving.

“Mornin’ Eggsy,” Merlin’s voice carries over...who knows where the microphones are. For all he knows, he might’ve planted one on him. “You’re back sooner than I expected.”

Eggsy grins at the mirror. “You give a hell of a sales pitch, mate.”

Merlin chuckles. “I’ll scare up someone to meet you when you arrive. Eggsy, from now on, you go by Archimedes. Ye won’t be telling anyone your real name while you’re training. Understood?”

Eggsy shrugs. “Archimedes? Kind of name is that?”

Silence. Clearly, Merlin is at ease ignoring questions he doesn’t want to answer.

 

When Eggsy arrives at the hangar, he’s met by a short, stocky Latin American woman.

“Archimedes,” she greets with a shit-eating grin, the bun on her head bouncing excitedly.

Eggsy smiles. “Who’re you, excalibur or summat?”

She laughs. “Oh, I get called my real name. I’m Abril, but we can make me a nickname if you want.”

Abril rattles off facts and opinions almost as fast as she walks. “Merlin’s name _is_ Merlin. His father was a surgeon for Kingsman and his mom worked R &D. You will stay in recruits' dorms, they are monitored but no one sees the videos except Merlin, and he doesn’t know I tell you this, so you can be sexy for him if you want.” Eggsy chokes a bit at that. Abril stops next to two heavy metal doors and gestures to a black glass square on the wall. “Put your hand there. It lets us enter.”

Eggsy places his palm on the glass, and after a moment, the doors swing silently open.

“I am sorry it is not...pretty.”

Rows of bunks line the walls. It's not pretty, no, but it's no worse than the Marines. Eggsy smiles, dropping his bag on the ground. “I can sleep anywhere.”

“Yes,” Abril smiles, “You learn that in the Marines. Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Good. You know shooting, yes?”

As they wind their way to the back of the house, Abril chatters happily about her job (recruitment, mostly), her background (she dropped out of MIT after meeting Merlin "on the internet"), and the handlers (every agent has their own handler, and Merlin is Galahad’s handler on top of everything because that was his starting position and Galahad is “very _very_ stubborn”). She takes him through the rest of the day’s activities, which include a medical eval and a computer simulation (“It is like a video game, you play James Bond?”).

When they arrive at the shooting range, Eggsy is reminded again how fucking legit Kingsman is. Eggsy’s never seen a luxury shooting range, but he imagines this is what it’d be like: perfectly manicured green lawns, shiny high-end guns, and a seemingly endless supply of automated targets.

He starts with handguns, taking them apart and putting them back together, then moves onto rifles, and he’s almost forgotten Abril when she yells, “Okay Archimedes, I think you are ready for the big guns now.”

Eggsy pulls his headphones off. “Wot?”

She taps at her clipboard, and nods at a black glass square beside the gun racks. “Put your hand. You are _good!”_

He grins, pleased, and presses his hand to the glass. The section of wall mounted with gun racks separates, pulls into the wall, and slides away. A new section of wall appears, mounted with heavy assault rifles and umbrellas. It slides into place with a heavy _clunk._

“Fuck me.”

“You could be a agent,” Abril continues brightly, “It’s good we found you. Some handlers cannot shoot a gun, but it is not necessary if they work at H.Q. _You_ could go with your agent _and_ do backup. I understand why Merlin likes you.”

Eggsy gestures at one of the umbrellas warily. “I guess there’s more to this, yeah?”

Abril sets aside her clipboard and pulls an umbrella off the wall, eyeing it fondly. “I cannot shoot, but I can show you how to use. Merlin’s mom created this. Amazing woman.”

 

Merlin is just starting Eggsy’s highlight reel, courtesy of Abril, when Harry finally arrives in his office. He does not comment on Harry’s perpetual tardiness as the man walks towards his desk.

“Something interesting?” Harry asks, coming around behind Merlin’s shoulder.

“Mm,” Merlin murmurs, watching Harry’s reflection out of the corner of his eye.

They watch Eggsy shoot four shots into the target’s chest and two into its forehead. Merlin remains silent as the montage speeds up (good girl, Abril, wonderful sense of drama), showing Eggsy working his way up the handguns to the rifles, expertly disassembling and reassembling them before making the shots, lining up the umbrella –

Merlin pauses the feed just before Eggsy takes the shot. Harry’s eyes are riveted on the screen.

Merlin schools his face into nonchalance. “Recruitment found him through one of their ridiculous honeypots. I have to hand it to Abril, I didn’t see the point of recruiting that way, but the lad’s got quite the skill set.”

“Yes,” Harry mutters, “I see that. Military?”

“He was, briefly, but she found him on a gambling site.” Merlin can’t help but smirk at Harry’s disapproving expression. “Don’t worry, Harry, I’ve got him pegged for a handler. You won’t have to work with him, seeing as you’ve made your feelings about handlers quite clear.”

Harry frowns at him. Merlin wonders if that was a little too obvious, and rises to fix the kettle.

“For whom? I didn’t know we were short any.”

“Jayesh says that if Lancelot leaves his glasses behind one more time, he’ll abandon him mid-mission,” Merlin replies, which is actually true, though Merlin has no intention of letting Jay off the hook anytime soon. James is just as likely to wear his glasses as _not_ to wear them these days, which is a huge fucking improvement. “Don’t tell James, mind, wouldn’t want him to think bad behavior gets rewarded.”

Merlin sees Harry’s jaw clench briefly at that before smoothing out, and counts it as a win. He can sense that Harry’s trying to come up with a legitimate reason to get more information about Eggsy, so he asks, “Oolong?”

Harry has no choice but to let the subject drop. “Yes, thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin begins preparing the tea, satisfied. He’ll have to get Eggsy a pair of glasses soon. Harry will no doubt turn off his comms when he finds the boy alone, and Merlin doesn’t want to miss that interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abril is fluent in English, but it's her second language. I like the idea that Kingsman Tech finds the best people from around the world (and also, diversity!) If anybody is offended by her or future ESL characters, please message me. I want to write them respectfully and well!


	3. Archimedes

Eggsy appears to have passed his tests, because he’s thrown into training the next day. Aside from morning martial arts lessons, he spends his days in a little office with a standing desk, a minibar, and an uncomfortable-as-fuck high stool which only becomes appealing after several hours of uninterrupted standing. He suspects the minibar is part of the training, because there are times when he wants nothing more than to mix a stiff drink before embarking on yet another mission simulation. He doesn’t, because the shit Merlin sends him is hard enough to pull off sober and caffeinated.

The simulations are like first-person video games, except more irritating: sometimes the agent listens to his instructions, but not always. He’ll tell his agent to place a bug in the ventilator shaft, and instead the agent will insist on shoving _himself_ inside – only to be discovered by the room’s occupants when he sneezes. By which point Eggsy has already plotted an escape route on the ventilation map of whatever building they’re in because there was no _way_ that was going to end well, and either the tech department is so obsessive they’ve created their own version of the internet, or the training simulations take place in real, actual buildings whose architectural plans require hacking into real, actual company databases. Eggsy would appreciate how detailed the simulations are, and how well the software seems to understand what he says, if he weren’t so fucking stressed that his fictional fucking agents keep fucking ignoring him.

He doesn’t see Merlin in person at all – hardly sees anyone, except a few techies scuttling through the halls and his ancient and possibly mute(??) martial arts instructor who somehow, despite being at least eighty, can flatten Eggsy in less than a minute. Meals are sent to him, and he appreciates the thought, but given that they’re shoved through a sliding tray slot like his office is a prison, he thinks the service leaves something to be desired. It’s like they’re trying to break him by making his life as solitary and sad as possible. Still, each day his joint bank account with mum and Daisy increases by a grand. If that’s how much they pay for _training,_ he’s going to do this as well as he fucking can.

On Day 14 of training (they number them like that, “Day 14,” like they don’t even want him to think in terms of normal days of the week), he’s alerted that his next day will be a day off. “A car will await you at 0800,” an automated voice politely informs him, before his glasses alert him that an alarm has been set for 07:06.

The idea of seeing mum and Daisy gives him an extra boost on his simulation (“Extraction: Bucharest”). When he finishes, he opens his office door onto the reliably silent and deserted hallway, takes his usual jog up and down, and returns expecting to see the next mission loaded. What awaits him instead is a message:

ARCHIMEDES, PLEASE PROCEED TO MERLIN’S OFFICE.

It’s so shocking that he almost sits back down on the stool, as if the screen will change its mind and show him his next simulation. But no, the message stays where it is. He’s never been to Merlin’s office, but he _has_ spent the past two weeks finding floorplans.

In the end, he has to ask Abril.

 

When Eggsy bursts into Merlin’s office, the man is not alone. Gorgeous Bloke is sitting across from Merlin, unfolding to stand in a perfectly-fitted suit. Eggsy immediately wonders if there’s food on his face and whether he remembered to shave this morning, because he hasn’t had actual human contact in two weeks except Mr. Miyagi (fuck it, he never told Eggsy his name, did he?) who could not give two shits if Eggsy showed up to martial arts in a dress.

“Archimedes,” Merlin introduces, “This is Agent Galahad.”

Galahad’s hand is warm, and strong, and Eggsy’s feels small and clammy in comparison. The agent is older than Eggsy remembers, possibly older than Merlin, and Eggsy wonders if _this_ is what his father would’ve turned into if he’d survived, then quickly regrets the thought because Eggsy may have daddy issues but that is just _wrong, delete, rm –_

“Merlin tells me you’re a man of many talents,” Galahad folds himself back into the armchair like a cat, with the same watchful wariness and elegantly draped limbs.

“Merlin,” Eggsy says, turning coquettish eyes in his direction in a vain attempt to cover his blush, “I didn’ know you cared.”

Merlin snorts. “Martial arts, Archimedes? Must you?”

Eggsy shrugs. “Wouldn’ mind parkour, if you got it.”

“Interesting activity for a handler these days,” Galahad muses.

“Abril did mention you’d do well in the field,” Merlin suggests, his voice perfectly neutral.

Cold rushes into Eggsy’s ribcage. He tries to keep his voice as light as Merlin’s. “Does that mean you’re...re-considerin’ my offer?”

Galahad huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Dear Lord, Merlin, don’t scare the boy. No, Archimedes, he’s _trying_ to give you a choice, but Merlin’s got the people skills of a sixties chat bot.”

That surprises a laugh out of Eggsy. Merlin glares at the agent, then fixes Eggsy with a mildly uncomfortable stare. “Galahad’s right, though records suggest that Eliza was considered quite companionable.”

Eggsy grins. “I like bein’ a handler,” he says. “As long as I get some time off an’ shit. Dunno how long I could go wif, like, not seein’ nobody.”

Merlin gestures at the open armchair, and Eggsy drops into it. He almost moans at the comfort. _This_ is what chairs should feel like.

“The life of a handler is not consistently solitary,” Merlin begins, then looks at Galahad, who looks pleasantly back. Whatever Merlin has to say must not be _that_ private because after another moment, he turns back to Eggsy. “You completed the first part of training rather quickly – not the fastest on record, mind, so don’t let it get to your head.”

Eggsy snorts. “When you put it like that, bruv.”

“Go home, take a day, and if you want to continue your training, come back at 0900 Wednesday,” Merlin finishes.

“What happens if I don’t come back?” Eggsy asks, not because he’s intending to, but just because he wonders if they’d really let him go.

“You’d keep the money, but not your memories,” Merlin answers easily. “You’d get a cover story, for yourself as well as family. It’s perfectly safe to drop out now.”

Galahad is watching Eggsy intently. “Do you like the work? Would you find it rewarding in the long term?”

That’s a fucking understatement. Kingsman is _sick._ “Yeah, I like computers an’ shit,” Eggsy replies flippantly, and Merlin flicks his eyes up, mouthing _computers and shit,_ “Only – the agents ain’t always ignorin’ handlers, right? In real life, they don’t fuck around?”

Merlin bursts into laughter. Galahad looks peevish.

_Great,_ Eggsy thinks, watching Merlin gasp helplessly and Galahad’s expression grow darker. _Yeah, that’s a great sign._

 

Eggsy spends the car ride back (fuckin’ _yes,_ an automated taxi) going through his cover story for his mum. Which turns out to be totally useless, because a new family’s moved in down the street with a daughter around Daisy’s age and mum can’t stop talking about them. Mum met the family at church last week, and Daisy and the other girl have been playing – not together, but in the same room, which is something.

Ever since mum stopped drinking (when she found out she was pregnant, thank Christ) she’s had almost too much energy. She takes Daisy on a stroller workout, pushing her around while she does some weird dance thing she says she saw on youtube, and Eggsy just sits on the pavement and laughs. It’s a nice, uneventful day in all, and when they sit down for dinner Eggsy feels strangely relaxed for the first time in years. It’s not him and his family against the world anymore. Merlin’s a crazy fucker, but he’s loyal, and Eggsy trusts him to take care of mum and Daisy.

Actually, Eggsy thinks, watching mum feed Daisy, he trusts mum to take care of herself. The house is paid off in her name, they’ve got enough saved up plus his fourteen days at Kingsman (fifteen, because today’s a _paid_ vacation, what the fuck) to last a while, and Daisy’s almost old enough for nursery. Not that mum’d get a full time job or nothing, but if you don’t have rent a part time job can stretch real far.

“Eggsy?”

He’s been drifting off. “I might move to London. For work,” he hesitates, “If this tailor thing works out.”

Mum breaks into a broad smile. “Oh, Eggs, that’s wonderful.” She reaches a hand out to his cheek. “Eggsy, have I told you how,” she chokes up a bit, “how grateful I am, to have you as a son.”

He shakes his head. “Mum, you say that all the time –”

“You been taking such good care of me and Daiz, workin’ away upstairs, leaving your friends in London, and –” her eyes water dangerously, “and you’re a smart young man and you should have some fun in life, not livin’ in an attic lookin’ after your useless mum –”

“Mum!” Eggsy protests, “That ain’t fair.”

“I mean, luv,” she sniffs, “You should live for yourself, Eggs. Me an’ Daisy are real happy here, ain’t we?”

Daisy responds by shoving her fingers in her mouth, and Eggsy relaxes into his chair, feeling confident about the future for the first time in years.

 

So of course the next day it goes to shit.

He doesn’t even know when it went wrong. One minute, he’s climbing into the Kingsman taxi and the next, he’s groggy and restrained and –

A skinny Indian man with a nasty sneer toys with a knife in front of him. “This knife could save your life.”

His wrists are tied and there’s a loud noise that sounds familiar and –

“FUCK!” Adrenaline rushes into Eggsy’s veins. _Train tracks. Train tracks._

“My employer’s got two questions for you. What is Kingsman, and who is Merlin?”

“I dunno who the fuck that is!” Eggsy screams. “Just cut the fucking ropes, please!”

The man laughs, and Eggsy’s struggling against the ropes but the train is coming real fuckin’ fast and there’s no fuckin’ time

“Is Kingsman worth dying for?” the man yells, and Eggsy has a brief moment of clarity where he thinks _Merlin fucking owes me_

And the train’s rushing over him and it’s loud and he’s shaking and

Nothing.

Huh.

His wrists are still tied.

Is he alive?

He cracks open an eye.

The man stands in front of him, smiling cheerfully, twirling the knife.

“Well done, Archimedes,” he says, chipper, and Eggsy’s going to fucking kill him.

“The fuck are you?”

The man crouches down beside him. He’s younger than Eggsy thought, maybe thirty-something. “I’m Jay,” he says, reaching to cut Eggsy free.

Eggsy’s stiff with barely-contained violence, and the man pauses.

“If you’re thinking about punching me,” he eyes Eggsy’s clenched fists warily, “I should inform you that A. We all had to do this and B. At least you didn’t piss yourself and C. Merlin has a black belt so if you want to punch anyone you should punch him.”

“You pissed yourself?”

Jay grins. “They were lucky I’d already taken my daily shit.”

 

Merlin greets him with a “Don’t even think about punching me,” and Jay bounds off after giving Eggsy a fist-bump.

“You saw?” Eggsy asks, slumping into an armchair.

“Of course,” Merlin replies, nursing a mug of tea. “Jayesh loves giving that test. You’re next in line if you want to give it a shot.”

“Does that mean I pass, then?” Eggsy asks. “Like, I’m an handler?”

Merlin considers his tea. “You’re a Kingsman, certainly. The handler position is...specific. I’m going to keep training ye for it, but it might be a while before you’re paired with an agent. It’s got to be the right fit.”

Eggsy frowns. “So what if I don’t fit wif’ anyone?”

Merlin smirks, as if he’s got some inside joke in mind. “I’m not worried about your fit, Archimedes. Good news for you, you’ve earned yourself an upgrade.”

 

His new room is fucking _sick._ There’s a four-poster bed, a bathroom with a fucking _tub,_ and a view of the West Lawn. His schedule’s a sight better as well. He still has martial arts in the morning, but after four hours of simulations he’s got etiquette at lunch, weapons training, and _beginner fucking parkour._

The parkour instructor, Dex, has an accent that makes Eggsy immediately comfortable. When Eggsy lands a backflip on his first day, Dex slaps him on the back. “You don’t need no _beginner parkour,_ mate,” he laughs. “You ready for the real thing.”

The etiquette instructor, a posh-as-fuck black man with greying hair, is less impressed with Eggsy’s abilities. “Don’ matter if y’ didn’ grow up talkin’ toff,” he says, sounding so much like one of Dean’s mates that Eggsy can’t tell if it’s his real accent or not. “You’re already at an advantage because of how you look, so don’t expect any pity from me.” And it’s back to the clipped syllables and the straight posture and the special fucking utensils for each course. Eggsy’s always starving by lunch, but Charles stretches the meal out for two fucking hours, and every day he has a new dining partner: a minor earl, an Israeli general, the wife of a high-ranking Chinese official. Charles plays all of them, which would be funny if he weren’t so good at it.

After a few days, Eggsy breaks and asks, “How come you do all them accents? What’s your real voice?”

“No one has a ‘real voice,’ Archimedes. Do you _think_ with an accent? Do you form those atrociously ungrammatical sentences in your head when you’re alone?”

After that, Eggsy starts to look forward to etiquette, because he’s determined to figure out where Charles is even fucking _from._

 

On his free nights, Eggsy starts getting back online. Merlin might’ve said he’s a Kingsman now, but he has a good thing going with the gambling and crypto and shit. He likes having other identities, fake ones that nobody knows.

So it takes him a while to understand what’s going on when he gets an encrypted message with the subject “bored of the rings.” He doesn’t even know which key to use to decrypt the body, anyway. It’s only when he’s in bed that he remembers watching _Fellowship of the Ring_ with Mark during training, telling him it should’ve been called _Bored of the Rings_ and getting a very, very dry look in return.

He’s out of bed before he can think about it. Because Mark is not a “stay in touch” kinda mate – Eggsy’s tried. And if he just wanted to get in touch, wouldn’t Mark have written “eggsy its mark” in the subject line?

The message contains no personal information. Well, none that could identify Mark or Eggsy to anyone else. But he knows it's Mark because early on they set up keys just for communicating with each other, when Mark realized what kind of career Eggsy was planning to go into. ("It's not that I'm opposed to stealing, philosophically, depending on the circumstance," Mark had explained quickly. "I just don't want to risk my career, necessarily." "I get it, bruv," Eggsy'd laughed.)

Whatever Mark's circumstance is these days, it must be worth risking a career for. Because the information that Mark sends him is definitely stolen: 

> wongd4@valentine.com 
> 
> pw $TkCB]3MvYvJ:4Q4
> 
> backupcode 294305
> 
> do reg humans email like this ? search uganda chechnya SIM  use v corp wifi only dont get caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head canon, Mark is super brilliant and only joined the marines because of family tradition. In return, his parents paid for him to go to MIT for computer science. If it seems like too much coincidence...it is because it is.
> 
> I'm not responding to any comments, but I want to say that I read and love them so much so much. Thank you <3


	4. Chapter 4

When Merlin arrives at his office the next morning, Eggsy is waiting.

“You look like shit,” Merlin says as Eggsy follows him in. “Aren’t you supposed to be in martial arts?” 

“Yeah, but I told Mr. Miyagi,” Eggsy starts, and at Merlin’s look, he tries again. “My, uh, friend, he was a mate in the Marines, taught me about computers an’ shit, he emailed me yesterday all mysterious, an’ I might need your help.”

“You need my help,” Merlin repeats, “Because your friend emailed you.”

Eggsy sets his laptop down, impatient, and logs in. He spins the screen to face Merlin.

He supposes he’s lucky Merlin even looks at the screen instead of kicking him out. He’s not making a ton of sense, but he didn’t sleep at all last night and he just has a feeling. 

He knows he’s right by the way Merlin’s face hardens. “When did you get this?”

“Last night.”

“Who’s the source?”

“Mate from the Marines.”

“You trust him?” 

“Yeah. With me life.” 

“You can verify that it’s him?” Merlin is very, very serious.

“Uh, yeah, pretty much, I mean, it’s encrypted, and he’s the only one with that key.”

“Did you search for Valentine at all? Online? Read anything about him?”

“I searched – yeah, I read about his company, watched interviews with him an’ stuff. I didn’ search ‘Uganda’ or ‘Chechnya’ or nothin’, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Merlin sighs, slumping, and lifts his glasses to rub at his temple. “Well, Eggsy,” and Eggsy knows Merlin’s really ruffled because he hasn’t called him that since fuckin’  _ Archimedes,  _ “I am – glad you brought this to me. I suppose you’re far enough in your training.”

Eggsy straightens. 

“Jayesh?” Merlin’s talking into his glasses. “Good. You’re awake. And Lancelot? Alright, come to my office, quick as ye can, tell Lancelot to come as well. Yes, wake him up, Christ, the lazy bugger. Archimedes,” Merlin hands him his  _ fuckin’ clipboard-not-clipboard yes. _ “Catch yourself up on that. Welcome to your first assignment.”

 

Merlin’s already lost in his computer when Jay arrives, holding a plate of warm pastries.

“Jay, you’re the guv’ner,” Eggsy says, and Jay grins. 

“Mummy forgets to eat sometimes,” Jay gestures at Merlin, “Figured you might be the same.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy agrees, spraying crumbs of scone everywhere, “Hard to think about eatin’ when you’re lookin’ at fuckin’ arms and legs an’ shit.”

Jay makes a face. “You should be grateful Merlin didn’t give you the color photographs. I threw up when James got there.”

“Lancelot?” Eggsy clarifies.

“The one and only,” says a posh voice. Eggsy turns to the door and – great, another handsome bloke in a suit. He thinks maybe Kingsman could learn a fucking thing or two about  _ blending in. _

“Lancelot,” Merlin doesn’t even look up from his computer, “Archimedes.”

“Ah,” Lancelot strides forward, extending a hand. “At last. I’ve heard a lot about you, little owl.”

Eggsy scowls, but he shakes his hand. “I ain’t heard fuck all ‘bout you, bruv.”

The agent grins. “I see why Harry likes you. You’re very much his type.”

“James,” Merlin snaps. Eggsy frowns. He and Harry haven’t even met since – what, fifteen years ago? Sixteen? Unless…

“Archimedes has provided a lucky break for us,” Merlin continues, and Eggsy refocuses. James is still watching him with a smile. It’s unnerving.

Merlin pulls a personnel file onto a large screen. “Mark Irwin,” he introduces, “Data scientist at Valentine Corporation. Completed his service in the Marines last year, matriculated straight to MIT, and dropped out midway through his first semester after being recruited by Richmond Valentine himself.”

Eggsy whistles. “Good on you, bruv.”

“Yesterday,” Merlin continues after shooting Eggsy a frown, “He contacted Archimedes through a private channel to alert him to strange...goings-on at Valentine.”

He pulls up the email:

> wongd4@valentine.com
> 
> pw $TkCB]3MvYvJ:4Q4
> 
> backupcode 294305
> 
> do reg humans email like this ? search uganda chechnya SIM  use v corp wifi only dont get caught

“We have not yet made use of the information,” Merlin finishes. 

“Could be a trap,” Lancelot muses.

“But we had no idea Valentine could be involved,” Jay counters. “Seems like they’re giving us a big clue.”

“Unless Valentine isn’t involved and they’re trying to point a finger away from themselves.” Lancelot turns to Eggsy. “How well do you know Irwin?”

“I was in the Marines with him, ‘till I dropped out. He was...a good bloke, kinda weird, didn’t make friends easy. Taught me about computers.”

“And have you been in touch since then?”

“He ain’t the type,” Eggsy says. “Don’t think he’d have made friends in the Marines neither, ‘cept y’have to if you wanna make it.”

“Hmph,” Lancelot mutters into his fist. “Seems suspicious that he reaches out to you of all people. Had you told him about Kingsman?”

“Fuck you, bruv,” Eggsy exclaims.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you would break our trust,” Lancelot hedges, “But a friend emails out of the blue after several years, with information that just happens to relate to a case we’re investigating, you can see why we have our doubts.”

Eggsy looks at Merlin.  _ He _ doesn’t look like he’s about to accuse Eggsy of betraying Kingsman. But he is waiting for an answer. 

“Mark’s one of those blokes who...likes what he likes, you know? I can’t talk about Lord of the Rings an’ shit, so I ain’t surprised we ain’t been talkin’ since I left. But I trust him with me life. If there was something real goin’ on, like I was scared an’ need to tell someone who ain’t gonna grass on me, I might’ve emailed him too.” He glances over at Merlin. “Now’days I’d probably ask Merlin first, but I guess Mark ain’t got a Merlin.” 

Merlin gives Eggsy a dry look, but Eggsy can tell he’s pleased.

Lancelot frowns. “I don’t like it. Not that I doubt you, little owl, but there’s too much coincidence here.”

Eggsy is going to punch that man in the face someday.

“Don’t trouble yerself, Lancelot,” Merlin says pleasantly. “You’re won’t be taking lead – Archimedes will.”

“Beg pardon?” Lancelot asks. 

“What?” Eggsy and Jay echo.

“Well,” Merlin smiles, “Archimedes was the one to receive the message. And his...extracurricular activities make him well suited for this particular task.”

 

Merlin’s not one to waste a training opportunity, so he has both Eggsy and Jay prepare for the mission. Separately. “Don’t worry about messin’ up, lad,” Merlin counsels him after Jay and Lancelot leave the office. “Just prepare how ye think ye’d need, and you can check against Jay to see what ye missed.”

“Yeah, that ain’t intimidatin’,” Eggsy mutters. His glasses ping him an alert. “Fuck, do I still gotta do etiquette an’ shit?”

“You do seem transformed into a perfect gentleman now,” Merlin smirks, and Eggsy flips him the bird. “Go to the caf and bring us some lunch, then. Bring your laptop, too. You can do your research from here.”

Eggsy tries to play it cool, but he just got invited to spend the  _ day _ in Merlin’s office. As he hurries to his room to pick up his laptop, he can’t help holding his head a little higher. 

That being said, if anybody calls him Merlin’s little owl again, he is not going to be responsible for his actions.

 

He returns to Merlin’s office with a tray of sandwiches and crisps. He’s got his laptop bag on one shoulder, a large bottle of coke tucked under his other arm, and no way of opening the office door. With a wince, he uses one foot to tap lightly at the door.

The doors swing open to reveal Gorgeous Bloke.

“Galahad,” Eggsy nods, “Merlin. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“On the contrary,” the agent says protests genially, “It seems I’m the one interrupting.” He shoots a significant look at Merlin. Merlin glowers back. “Please, allow me.” Galahad promptly divests Eggsy of the lunch tray.

“Ta.” Eggsy sets down the coke and his laptop, and turns to see the two men glaring at each other. After a moment, he gestures at the food. “You stayin’ for lunch?” he asks the agent, then quickly regrets it as he sees Merlin sigh.

Galahad beams at Eggsy like he’s just offered a free trip to Venice. “It would be my absolute pleasure.”

They end up seated around Merlin’s frighteningly modern coffee table. Despite what Galahad said, Eggsy definitely feels like he’s interrupting something. For starters, Merlin doesn’t even bring his clipboard to the table. It’s a little unnerving to have Merlin’s undivided attention. Especially given that neither man seems inclined to begin the conversation.

“So you’re ‘is handler?” Eggsy looks between Merlin and Galahad.

“Yes,” Merlin agrees, “I do have that honor.”

Eggsy has to hand it to him – if he hadn’t seen them interact before, he might’ve thought Merlin was serious.

“The honor is all mine,” Galahad actually  _ blushes _ a little, just the faintest touch of rouge on his cheeks, which makes Merlin wince. 

“Of course,” Merlin continues, “Galahad hardly needs a handler at all. He’s so incredibly thorough in his investigations.”

“My dear man,” Galahad protests, “What is left for me to investigate when you share your knowledge so generously?”

Eggsy’s seen his share of arguments in his life, but never one like  _ this. _ He wishes, absently, for popcorn.

“Galahad will even go so far as to investigate matters on behalf of other agents,” Merlin turns wide, earnest eyes to Eggsy. “His curiosity truly knows no bounds.”

“Oh Merlin,” the agent bloody  _ purrs,  _ “You’re too generous. But – Archimedes, dear boy. Tell me about yourself. I don’t think Merlin has ever been so... _ private _ about his trainees before.”

At this, the agent smiles conspiratorially at Eggsy, and Eggsy suddenly and desperately wants out. He doesn’t like what Galahad’s implying, and he doesn’t like how Merlin’s spine stiffens in the corner of his vision.

He reaches for the first thing he can think of: he relaxes his posture and lets his knees fall apart slightly. “Naw, mate,” he drawls, “Merl ain’t in it for that. You, on the other hand,” he rakes his eyes slowly over the agent’s body, “You look like you could use a little loosenin’ up.”

Merlin barks out a laugh. Eggsy winks at him.

Galahad’s  _ real _ blush, it turns out, is very, very red.


	5. Chapter 5

Eggsy’s first foray into the field is...dull. After a week of waiting for the Right Opportunity, he walks straight into the courtyard of Valentine’s London HQ, no ID required. He logs into the company wifi and immediately starts downloading Daniel Wong’s entire email archive onto “Daniel Wong’s iPad” – actually a server back at Kingsman, but Merlin dressed it up faultlessly as usual.

Wong is sitting at a table nearby, eyes glued to his phone as he slowly eats a salad. Eggsy’s high stakes task is to make sure Wong stays in the courtyard until the download finishes. Otherwise, “Daniel Wong” might be be spotted accessing the company wifi from (gasp) _two different access points._

(“You really think they’re gonna care?” Eggsy’d protested.

“I know I would,” Merlin had scowled, as if daring Eggsy to tease him.

“That’s ‘cause you’re the fucking best,” Eggsy’d grinned, and Merlin had almost _blushed,_ the adorable fucker.)

Merlin’s the best because he’s paranoid. So paranoid, in fact, that Eggsy’s even wearing light prosthetics on his face, enough to render him unrecognizable to any facial recognition algorithms. “Humor me, lad,” Merlin had said, “Most agents are too vain to use them.” So Eggsy’s wearing a different fucking _face_ to sit in a fucking courtyard.

The download finishes within forty minutes, throughout which Wong remains engrossed with whatever’s on his phone. As a handler, Eggsy’s thrilled that it all went so smoothly. As a first-time field agent...

“You can’t always do the three F’s,” Jay shrugs upon Eggsy’s somewhat morose return. At Eggsy’s look, Jay reels off, “Fight or Flight or Fuck.”

“To be fair,” Lancelot drawls from the couch, “It’s rare not to accomplish at least _one.”_

“That,” Merlin does not look away from his computer, “Is why you’re going to die before your time.”

The agent salutes him.

“So, what’s goin’ on in Chechnya?” Eggsy asks.

“It appears,” Lancelot sobers, “Valentine Corp is creating SIM cards that trigger aggression. As in, ‘Kill everyone in the vicinity’ levels of aggression.”

“Wha’? Why?”

Jay shrugs. “Terrorism?”

“Company-sponsored terrorism?” Eggsy repeats flatly.

Lancelot and Jay both turn to Merlin, but the man says nothing, just continues frowning at his screen. Eventually, Jay continues the narrative. “We know it’s someone high up,” he says, “Because a mysterious corporation that _eventually_ traced back to Valentine Corp also _happened_ to purchase the largest SIM card manufacturing plant in Argentina last year. It cost a pretty penny – and they covered their tracks well.”

“But Valentine,” Eggsy says, “He’s into the environment an’ shit. Why would _he_ be doing _that?”_

“That is a very good question, Archimedes,” Merlin speaks up, finally, after his conspicuous silence. “And also, no longer within your purview.”

“What?” 

With a keystroke, Merlin turns all the screens in his office black. He rises, face blank. “You are now, officially, off the case.”

Eggsy looks at Jay, then James. The men look just as shocked as he feels.

_So this is all Merlin’s decision,_ Eggsy thinks bitterly.

“Ye did well, lad,” Merlin continues. “You’ve helped us enormously. But now it’s time to hand things back off to Lancelot.”

A protest bubbles up in Eggsy’s throat, alongside something suspiciously like a sob. He suppresses both. There’s a tense silence.

“Dismissed, Archimedes.”

Eggsy leaves.

 

AGENT TERMINATED.

Eggsy rubs his face, then grimaces. He's still wearing the prosthetics. And he’s killed an agent within thirty minutes of starting a simulation.

At least it was a bit cathartic.

The afternoon keeps replaying in his mind. He followed orders to the letter. He wore a fake fucking _face._ But Merlin did say that he’d done well. Maybe that was how Kingsman was: they used you as much as they could, then dumped you back out.

Eggsy scowls at his own self-pity. Kingsman hadn’t _dumped_ him. They’d just taken him off a mission. It was Lancelot’s mission, and Eggsy was still a trainee. He should feel lucky he’d got included at all.

A _ping_ from the computer refocuses his attention.

ARCHIMEDES, PLEASE PROCEED TO MERLIN’S OFFICE.

He looks blankly at the screen. _Shit._ He’d fucking failed that simulation. He hadn’t been thinking. Maybe _now_ he’d be in trouble.

The screen pings again.

GET THAT PROSTHETIC SHITE OFF YOUR FACE

 

Eggsy’s fighting mild nausea by the time he gets to Merlin’s office. When the door opens, Merlin doesn’t even look up from his computer.

The nausea worsens. Eggsy enters quietly, and closes the door. With dread, he turns back to Merlin. Merlin who is now, inexplicably, holding up a bottle of scotch.

“Kingsman tradition,” the older man explains, and sets the bottle down on the table next to two crystal tumblers. “For a successful first mission.”

“I ain’t eaten since breakfast,” Eggsy protests warily.

“For later, then,” Merlin concedes. He seats himself in one armchair. Eggsy takes the one opposite.

“I apologize, Eggsy, for misleading you earlier. It was important for the others to believe you’ve been taken off the mission.”

Eggsy freezes. “To _believe?”_

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this one," the Scotsman frowns. He looks – old, suddenly, his face lined and worried. "James is a good agent, but he’s got all the subtlety of a four year-old. And whoever is running this _is_ subtle, keeping something so big secret for so long.” After a heavy pause, he adds, “I may also be getting paranoid in my old age.”

“I don’ blame ya, guv."

“According to...regulation, tradition...Arthur has to sign off on assigning agents to their missions. If I were doing this by the book, and I wanted another agent on the case, I’d probably get Harry.”

Eggsy blinks. “Isn’ ‘e supposed to be one of the best?”

Merlin quirks a smile. “He’s not much better than James in the subtlety department.”

The younger man shakes his head. “If he’s anything like James or fuckin’ _Galahad_...guv, I dunno ‘bout the others, but the agents I’ve met don’t seem like ‘spy material.’”

The smile on the older man’s face broadens into a grin. “Kingsmen are, Archimedes, first and foremost _gentlemen.”_

Eggsy snorts.

“Now, I want ye to be honest,” Merlin turns grave again. “I’d like to send you back into the field. And you’d be going as yourself, pursuing your connection with Irwin. It could be dangerous.”

“You’d protect me,” Eggsy replies. It comes out flippant, but underneath it is an unshakeable confidence. His nausea has disappeared completely, replaced by a euphoric thrum of excitement.

He’s going to be an agent. A _secret_ secret agent. Merlin’s special weapon.

The older man smiles at him. “I’ll do my best, lad. It’s a rare pleasure to have an agent who actually follows orders. But don’t get attached to fieldwork. You’d be wasted out there.”

 

> Yo mark its eggsy its been fuckin years how you been? Im comin to boston tomorrow. You still there?

Eggsy turns his phone to Merlin. “That look alright to you?”

Merlin looks it over. “I assume you’re not looking for a spellcheck.”

“Ha fuckin’ ha.”

“It’s good, lad.”

Eggsy sends the text, and tucks his phone away. Merlin swabs the area behind his left ear. Eggsy closes his eyes.

“Comfortable?” There’s humor in Merlin’s voice.

“Fuckin’ tired,” Eggsy responds. “Always wanted a piercing.”

Merlin chuckles. “Unfortunately, this won’t be much of a fashion piece.”

“S’alright. Fuckin’ bone conduction’s a hell of a lot cooler.”

“Glad you feel that way.” A hand pulls his earlobe forward. “Take a deep breath in, now release it slowly.”

As Eggsy breathes out, he feels the prick of a needle.

“We’ll wait a tick for the anesthetic.”

Eggsy nods. “So, the implant’s charged by my blood?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Wow. Didn’ think I’d go cyborg till I were thirty, at least.”

Merlin settles back down beside him. Eggsy feels a vague pressure behind his ear. “Does that hurt?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Stay still.”

Eggsy does not respond. He can feel, vaguely, something being pressed against his skin – or into his skin, probably, but who knows.

After some time, the pressure ceases. “You’re all set. Don’t touch it, mind.”

“Sir yes sir.”

 

> Eggsy! Good to hear from you. It’s been forever. I live pretty close to the airport in Boston. What time do you get in?

_Tell him you’ve got yer job interview first. We can't have him coming to the airport and seeing you've got your own plane._

“This is fucking sick, bruv,” Eggsy whispers.

_Am I right to assume this is your first time on a private jet?_

Eggsy blinks. “Bruv, I ain’t talkin’ about the jet. I’m talking about the fuckin’ blood-powered microphone that’s in my fuckin’ head. But yeah, plane’s nice.”

_Ah. Glad you approve._ _What’s your greeting?_

“Archie.”

_And your magic phrase?_

Eggsy grits his teeth. “Little owl.”

_Good. I’ll be keeping tabs on you. Read up on your "job interview" during the flight. And get some rest if ye can._

“Yes, dad.”

_Make me proud, son._

 

The man who walks out to meet Eggsy at the airport bears little resemblance to the scrawny teenager he remembers from basic. He’s still slim, but his dark curls have grown out, and plain army trackies have been replaced with a light blue dress shirt and not-terrible jeans. The man breaks into a toothy, lopsided, achingly familiar grin, and Eggsy grins back.

“Unwin.”

“Irwin.”

They end up at a vegan cafe that has plants growing all over the walls.

“Since when you a poncy vegan, then?”

Mark shoots Eggsy a stern but amused look. “You’re one to talk.”

“I could take six cocks in me arse and still be less fuckin’ ponce than this place.”

Mark laughs. “Don’t tell that to my boss.”

“Still workin’ for Valentine?”

“Yeah,” Mark stirs his kale tofu disgusting bowl. “Are you looking for a job now? Going on the straight and narrow?”

“Thinkin’ ‘bout it,” Eggsy shrugs. “Don’ have any of your fancy degrees.”

“Technically we have the same degrees.”

“Yeah well we can’t all be Steve uni-fuckin-dropout Jobs.”

“Few are.”

They eat in silence for a moment. The bread is dry and grainy, and the peanut butter not at all sweet. Eggsy didn’t know you could fuck up a fuckin’ nut butter sandwich. He’s almost impressed.

“Do you like it at Valentine?”

Mark nods. “It’s nice, kinda weird. Or not. I don't know.”

Eggsy tilts his head and says nothing.

“Richmond likes to come by and meet us one-on-one every couple months. He was here last Monday, out of the blue. I don’t know how he has the time. He always seems to remember stuff about us. Not just facts, but stuff we talked about. It’s really impressive. Most people think of him as a tech genius, and he’s really, _really_ smart, but I think the ‘genius’ thing about him is that he’s so good with people.”

Eggsy keeps what he thinks is an appropriately-interested-but-not-too-interested listening face on. That might be the longest monologue he’s ever heard from Mark, at least about something that isn’t fictional and involves elves. “So, what do ya talk about wif 'im?”

Mark frowns at his kale, nudging it with a fork. “We talked about...population, last week.” A pause. Mark sets his fork down, and his voice drops. Eggsy leans in slightly to hear. “He asked whether I’d read any Malthus, about overpopulation, and then what about Darwin, the ‘O.G. stuff.' He said that if climate change is linked with human activity, isn’t it just going to get worse? The world’s population is growing, technology use is spreading...At first I thought maybe he was having doubts about his business. Like, flying everywhere is bad for the environment, and tech uses a lot of electricity and unsustainable materials, and is he going to make it worse by giving away sim cards and encouraging people to use even more technology?”

Eggsy’s pulse picks up. “He’s giving away sim cards?”

Mark looks alarmed. “Oh shit, that was a secret, it’s really not a secret at work but he hasn’t announced it publicly and I forgot –”

“Don’ worry bruv, I can keep my mouth shut.”

Mark quirks a smile, but his face remains worried. “Yeah, I know. I’m not worried about you...telling secrets. The weird thing was, last week, when he visited, he didn’t meet with anyone else. He only met me.”

Eggsy feels his eyebrows rise. Fuck it. They’d probably rise normally, right? “That’s great, bruv,” he says, trying to sound encouraging. “Maybe he wants to promote you or somethin’.”

Mark leans forward, and his voice drops lower. “I think he wanted to talk to me because I’m on the spectrum. I know,” he adds hastily, “That’s a weird thing to say. But he said that one thing he liked about ‘people like me’ was that we were able to think about problems without getting too sentimental. And then he started talking about how he was visiting his family in the South and his nephews went hunting for coyotes and it’s important for predators to always have some kind of vulnerability. Because if people didn’t hunt the coyotes then they’d eat all the other wildlife and then starve and what if stuff went extinct because of that? But he said he couldn’t stand the sight of blood so he couldn’t actually help with the coyotes at all. And sometimes he just felt like, he keeps throwing money at climate change but a really _big_ change is needed, like someone needs to arm everybody and tell them to shoot the coyotes, except it’s not coyotes that are the problem, it’s humans.”

Mark comes to a sudden stop. Eggsy blinks. _“Kill everyone in the vicinity” levels of aggression,_ he hears Lancelot saying. A trickle of cold fear slips down his spine. 

“It was weird because,” Mark says very quietly, “I’ve had those thoughts before. Not about coyotes, but about...population. People. There are too many of us. And if...governments, or companies...sterilized people. Or offered incentives for people to choose to sterilize themselves. I know,” he hurries, looking at Eggsy’s face, “I know it’s wrong. I’d never _do_ anything like that, or want people to do it. But then Richmond was saying it, and I couldn’t tell whether he was testing me.”

Eggsy nods, trying to school his face into concern or sympathy. Anything but panic.

“What do you think?” Mark asks.

“About...what he wanted?” Eggsy asks, buying time.

Mark frowns, looking so earnest and confused and so fucking _young_ that Eggsy’s heart breaks a little. “About population. Coyotes. You know." 

“I think,” Eggsy says carefully, “He has a point.” His pulse is thrumming loudly beneath his skin. Consciously, he relaxes back in his seat. “Guess I never really thought about it. Not like I could do anythin’.”

His friend nods, looking excited. “Right, exactly. That’s how I always felt." Mark's eyes are very wide, and very bright. Eggsy feels sick.

"But what if you _could_ do something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit guys I started this AU because I wanted to write Eggsy/Merlin BFF with side Eggsy/Roxy BFF and some Eggsy/Harry UST with eventual Eggsy/Harry RST ;). But now there’s a plot???  
> Anyway sorry that the updates have slowed down! I promise the story will keep going. Roxy will appear SOON. Thank you for reading as always <3
> 
> Fun notes:  
> Argentina actually did have major [cell phone manufacturing](https://www.npr.org/2017/02/23/516895101/when-argentina-elected-a-populist-president-some-companies-left-the-country) about ten years ago  
> Bone conduction: Did you know you can [hear through bone vibration??](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bone_conduction)  
> Blood-powered implant: Okay so this is [actually possible](http://sciencenewsjournal.com/medical-device-implant-doesnt-need-battery-draws-power-human-body/) SCIENCE why did I quit you


End file.
